


A Little While, A Little While

by gwyllgi



Series: Herc/Raleigh Bingo Challenge [4]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllgi/pseuds/gwyllgi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regrets and resentment are insidious, worming their way to the bone.  Overcoming them may take a miracle—or a very stubborn Raleigh Becket.  <i>It wasn't that he disliked Raleigh—far from it.</i></p>
<p>Written for the Herc/Raleigh Bingo Challenge prompt: Trust</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bingo Card

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from an Emily Jane Brontë poem of the same name.
> 
> For lack of anywhere better to put it, the first chapter is my bingo card. Click on through to chapter 2 for the fic.


	2. A Little While, A Little While

It wasn't that he disliked Raleigh—far from it.

Raleigh was a valued member of the PPDC—the face of it these days, really—and Herc respected what he'd accomplished. Raleigh had stayed when many had expected him to run again, to disappear like smoke, and thrived in the flux as the PPDC established what it wanted to become. He'd worked closely with Mako and the newly-expanded J-tech team, fielded interviews and fundraisers to keep the load off Herc. He'd made the move from Hong Kong to Sydney when it was determined that the original Shatterdome wouldn't accommodate the PPDC's new direction and, though he obviously had difficulty adapting to the brutal Australian summer, he didn't so much as breathe a word of complaint. He never turned down a request for help, often volunteering his little free time to assist whoever needed it.

He was an essential part of the PPDC, one without whom Herc couldn't imagine moving forward

It wasn't Raleigh's fault that all Herc saw when he looked at him was Chuck.

_Why did you come back, and not him?_

The first time Herc recognized the thought, he'd been appalled. Chuck had been a Ranger, had known the risks, known his role, and played it to the end. He'd died to ensure that Raleigh and Mako could complete the mission, had given his life for theirs, yet Herc begrudged Raleigh his. He'd clamped down on the thought, shunted it away from him, but its imprint lingered.

_Couldn't you have saved him?_

_If you'd been a little faster..._

_Wasn't there something more you could have done?_

Although he dismissed them each time, the sentiment behind them lingered, resentment building to a dull, subconscious anger. He could hear it coming through in his voice when he spoke with Raleigh and struggled against it, finally reining it in with such sheer will that conversations with Raleigh were instead conducted in as flat a manner as possible, as quickly as possible. If Raleigh had thought anything wrong with their short, dry conversations, he didn't mention it; in truth, he seemed to approach their interactions with equal detachment.

So things continued as weeks passed into months, months passed into years. The PPDC flourished as its influence returned to the levels of its heyday. If, at its heart, painful memories still lingered—well, few had remained unscarred by the war.

* * *

It had taken over two and a half years, but they had finally done it: they'd built another Jaeger. There had been some debate as to whether it was officially a Jaeger or if the program name should be changed, but Herc had put his foot down: Jaegers were Jaegers, whatever their purpose. It had seemed a small way to honor their fallen comrades, to include the Jaegers in the peaceful future, rather than leave them behind in the dust of war.

A month before field testing began, Herc was finally beginning to relax. Things had gone smoothly—more smoothly than he'd anticipated—and they were on track for an August launch.

That, of course, was when everything went balls-up.

It was a cool day—only around 10°—and Herc was leaving his office to retrieve a sweater when he nearly bowled Mako over. He took one look at her face and stepped back into the room, gesturing for her to follow. When she closed the door behind her, he studied her pale face, at a loss when her eyes began to brim with tears.

"I am sorry, Marshal, but I must step down from the Poseidon Project."

It wasn't what he'd been expecting to hear—rather, he hadn't known what to expect, but that would not have been anything he'd have guessed. He leaned against the edge of his desk and motioned Mako into one of the chairs in front of him. "Why don't you tell me what's up?"

Mako stared at her hands, folded in her lap, for so long that Herc worried he'd asked the wrong question, but she finally inhaled deeply and lifted her head, looking at him with a steady gaze no longer wet with unshed tears. "I will be unable to pilot, for medical reasons."

Alarm bells went off in Herc's head, thoughts of Stacker and cancer running through his mind. "It's not—"

Mako's mind must have been in the same place, as she quickly cut him off. "No, I am not ill. I am pregnant."

It hit him like an uppercut, rattling his brain so that the only thing that came out was: "Does Raleigh know?"

Mako nodded, chin ducking again. "I told him last night. He told me to do what was best for myself and the baby." She looked up, and there were the tears again. "But, Marshal, he cannot pilot Poseidon by himself, and the few candidates we have left are nowhere near his level. It is my fault if the project is compromised."

There were times Herc wished he was better at communicating—entirely too often, he just winged it, with mixed success. He knelt next to Mako's chair, folded one hand over both of hers, still joined in her lap. "Mako, he's right. We'll figure it out—you focus on yourself." He squeezed her hands, floundering as a tear escaped to run down her cheek. "You should be happy. Live your life. We'll still be here when you're ready."

Mako's smile was watery, but still a relief to see. "I will not be going anywhere, Marshal. I might not be able to pilot, but I can work with the technicians, help from the other side—like I did with Gipsy. I could never leave."

"And we're glad to have you." Herc squeezed her hands again, then rose and circled his desk to settle behind it. "Congratulations, Mako. You've earned it."

"Thank you, Marshal." She rose and bowed deeply to him before leaving the office. When the door closed behind her, Herc dropped his head in his hands and fought a groan.

* * *

"Marshal."

Herc was unsurprised when Raleigh approached him later that afternoon, while Herc was returning to his office after a quick lunch. When Herc turned, Raleigh gave him a tight smile—the familiar resentment spiked through him and was shunted quickly away through long practice. "Raleigh," he said, though in his head he heard _Ranger Becket_ , cold and formal, a shield between them.

"Mako told you," Raleigh said without preamble. "When did you want to meet to discuss how to proceed?"

"I'm free now." Without waiting for a response, he continued on his way. The sound of footsteps followed him as Raleigh, compliant as a well-trained dog, trailed behind. He entered his office without pausing and circled his desk, dropped into the chair there as Raleigh closed the door and stood awkwardly in front of it. It took Herc a moment to realize Raleigh was waiting for permission to sit, and he gestured him toward a chair as he leaned forward, propped his elbows on his desk. "You know the options."

Raleigh nodded. "I do." He twisted his fingers together, watched the patterns they formed rather than meet Herc's eyes. Herc found himself watching, too, considering the shapes made by the surprisingly-graceful digits until he mentally shook himself. "I also know we can't afford mistakes now." He glanced up at Herc with a faint frown. "There really is only one option, isn't there, sir?"

"It may not be a viable option, Raleigh." _Ranger Becket_. "Even with the advances in Drift technology, there would be difficulties."

Raleigh grimaced. "I know I have issues—it would be hard for someone new to Drift with me. But you know what it's like to Drift, how to work with someone instead of just following their lead. We could make it work, sir."

"I'm getting older, Raleigh." _Ranger Becket_. "They were already questioning my ability to hold a Neural Handshake three years ago; I doubt that's improved."

"Bullshit." The vehemence of Raleigh's denial surprised them both, if Raleigh's wide eyes were any indication. "You could Drift just fine."

Herc frowned, unable to mask his skepticism. "You have some evidence I don't know about?"

"You know they've advanced the Drift technology, and it's not combat; the strain on the Neural Handshake wouldn't be as great. We both know how to balance, so we could keep each other from chasing the RABITs, if it came to that." Raleigh's hands twisted again, though he held Herc's gaze this time. "The only problem is... I don't think you trust me, sir."

Long years of practice kept Herc's face impassive. "What makes you say that, Raleigh?" _Ranger Becket_.

Raleigh's lips tightened, not quite a frown but enough to betray his tension. "I always... you blame me, don't you?"

Herc could have played dumb, but that would only prolong the inevitable. "I don't blame you," he said instead, and in his rational mind it was true.

Sighing, Raleigh rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "It's OK, sir. I blame me, too." He ducked his chin briefly, then met Herc's eyes again, his gaze firm and level. "We have to move past that, though, or we'll never be able to Drift."

Gazes caught, they stared at each other in silence for what seemed like eons--had Raleigh's eyes always been that blue? Herc's resolve finally broke and he flicked his eyes away, drummed his fingers on his desktop. "What do you propose we do, Raleigh?" _Ranger Becket_.

Raleigh frowned absently as he considered; Herc could nearly see the gears in his head turning. "Why don't we start in the Kwoon, see where we stand?"

As plans went, though it was sketchy, it had potential, and Herc nodded as he mentally reviewed his schedule. "Tomorrow morning, 0500." That would be early enough to avoid spectators, he hoped; the last thing they needed while they worked things out was an audience evaluating their performance. He suspected they'd have a hard enough time on their own.

* * *

Raleigh was barely breathing hard when he lowered his _bo_ and dropped his guard completely. Herc brought himself up short, his own _bo_ nearly catching Raleigh in the shoulder, and stepped back to frown at him. "What are you doing?"

"With respect, sir: why are you holding back?"

If Herc were a man given to it, his face would have been beet red at having been caught out. As it was, he propped the end of his _bo_ on the floor and folded his hands over the top. "What makes you think I'm holding back, Raleigh?" _Ranger Becket_.

"You're missing openings any trainee would have caught. I can see you avoiding them, sir." Raleigh sighed, swinging his _bo_ up to prop it across his shoulders, which emphasized the defined musculature of his arms as he hooked his hands over the ends. "It's like you know they're there, but you refuse to take them. Why?"

_Because I'm afraid I'll forget that we're not actually fighting._

_Because I'm afraid I'll hurt you and not be able to stop._

_Because sometimes I really want to break you._

"I must be out of practice."

Raleigh's flat stare gave away his disbelief in the bald-faced lie, and, though he didn't roll his eyes, the sentiment was clear in his sigh. "You're not out of practice, sir. You're deliberately avoiding them. How are we supposed to Drift if you can't even trust me enough for this?"

_You're out of line, Ranger_ , Herc thought, but even in his head it sounded overly severe; Raleigh was only trying to help. "I think we're going about this the wrong way," he said instead.

Raleigh frowned, but nodded. "Maybe this is too much, too soon. Are you free tonight, Marshal?"

He was, though the thought of spending more time in Raleigh's company twisted his stomach. "What are you proposing?"

"Maybe we should go out—get a drink. They say there's truth at the bottom of the bottle; that might be what we need."

It was a terrible idea. "OK," Herc said. Raleigh's small smile set off klaxons in his head, quickly muffled. "Did you have somewhere in mind?"

"I'll come up with something." Raleigh swung his _bo_ down, bowed slightly to Herc. "I'll pick you up at 1900. If that's OK."

Shit, what was he getting himself into? "1900 is fine. Find me in my office."

* * *

Herc had expected Raleigh to take him to the kind of proper pub to which the tourists gravitated, with pretentious beer at $20 a bottle, so it was a surprise when they ended up in a boozer with a clientele dominated by military members, where the bartender greeted Raleigh by name. Herc bellied-up for a bottle of Feral Hop Hog, surprised again when Raleigh ordered his Mountain Goat Steam Ale with the ease of long practice.

They found a small table, dingy and scarred by cigarette burns that revealed its age; no doubt it had been in this same spot for decades. They settled on opposite sides of the table and nursed their beers in silence, looking everywhere but at one another. For all of Raleigh's talk about truth at the bottom of the bottle, he seemed to be in no rush to finish his, a sentiment Herc shared with him.

Half an hour after they'd arrived, neither had made much of a dent in their drop. Herc pretended to people-watch or studied the advertisements covering the walls, while Raleigh had taken to picking at the label on his bottle, leaving a pile of shredded bits on the table before him.

It was Raleigh who finally caved, setting his beer down with a gusty sigh. "This was a terrible idea, wasn't it?"

He looked so beaten that even lingering resentment was overwhelmed by the downturn of Raleigh's lips, their usual fullness compressed with his distress. "It was good in theory," Herc found himself saying. "You just didn't account for us."

Raleigh's wry grin settled warm in Herc's chest, an answering grin touching Herc's lips before the old resentment crept back in and strangled the curve of his mouth into a tight line. Raleigh's grin faltered and fell away, crumpled into nothingness, and Herc found himself wanting to apologize, to ease the dejectedness that hung on Raleigh like an ill-fitting coat. It was a surprising struggle to keep his mouth closed, to simply stare at Raleigh until he sighed again.

"We should go," Raleigh said, already pushing his chair back. "We can forget this ever happened, right?"

"Yeah." Herc pushed his own beer away, rise and followed Raleigh from the bar to where they'd parked the car, one liberated from the PPDC's fleet. He hesitated there. "I can take a cab back."

Raleigh's shoulders drooped as he keyed the car open. "If you think that's best," he said, his head low as he opened the car door. A moment later, he startled Herc by slamming the door shut and turned to face him. A thunderous scowl twisted the normally soft lines of his mouth. "You know what? No. Neither of us is catching a cab. If we can't even share the same car, how are we supposed to Drift? We have to get through whatever this is."

Herc's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. _You're out of line, Ranger_ echoed through his head again. Before he could say anything, though, Raleigh's scowl had melted into embarrassment, apparent only a moment before Raleigh turned his face away.

"Sorry, sir. It's your call. But if someone's taking a cab back, it should be me; it wouldn't be right to leave the Marshal behind."

Herc sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Just get in the car, Raleigh." _Ranger Becket_. He gave Raleigh a quelling look when he made to argue, though it wasn't until Herc circled to the passenger side that Raleigh opened the car door again and slid inside.

Most of the drive back to the 'dome was conducted in silence; Raleigh stared fixedly at the road, while Herc watched the scenery fly by. Five minutes out, Raleigh spoke, his voice low enough that it was almost lost under the sound of the engine and the wind whistling through the window Herc had opened.

"I'm still getting used to driving like this." Herc turned to him to see a grin fleeting across Raleigh's face as his fingers flexed on the wheel. "I still try to drive from the left sometimes--I've gotten into the car more than once before I realized that I was on the wrong side. It's a learning curve." He glanced at Herc. "Maybe we've got a learning curve, too. Maybe the problem is that we're trying to start at the peak, instead of at the nadir."

"You have another idea."

"Yeah." They fell back into silence until the 'dome appeared in the distance. They were waved through the gates, and Raleigh's eyes flicked to Herc again. "I went to summer camp once as a kid; we couldn't head to our grandparents' place right after school let out and we were driving Mom nuts, so she packed Yancy and me off to camp for a while. It was pretty cheesy, but it wasn't bad.

"At the start of camp, they had us do these exercises to get to know the other campers—trust leans, eye contact, stuff like that. We spent an entire day doing things with blindfolds, on and off. Yancy ran me into a tree once because he thought it was funny, but otherwise it really changed things—when you're relying on someone else to keep you safe, it's hard to remember the bad things about them."

Herc could feel his eyebrows rising again. "You want to... what, stare into my eyes until we're best friends? I don't think that'll accomplish anything, Raleigh." _Ranger Becket_.

"No, not that." Raleigh parked the car, turned it off, but made no move to exit it. "I was thinking more like a blind walk. I could blindfold you—or you could blindfold me, whatever—and we could wander around the 'dome for a while. Maybe just an hour, a couple of hours, not too long."

As terrible ideas went, it ranked among the worst, yet Herc found himself considering it regardless. In the end, he sighed. "Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."

Raleigh grimaced. "This will never work if you don't try, Marshal."

"You're out of line, Ranger." Herc didn't realize it had been more than a thought until Raleigh recoiled, hurt flashing through his eyes before he turned them away. Well, shit. "When did you have in mind for this exercise?"

"Better sooner than later," Raleigh said, muted, almost questioning. "Your schedule's busier than mine, so whenever you're free."

Herc fought a sigh; how they were going to get through would be interesting to see. "I'll let you know," he said, then escaped the confines of the car before Raleigh could say another word.

Herc breathed deeply as he left the garage, and told himself he wasn't running.

* * *

Though Herc had considered "forgetting" their arrangement, two days later found him in his quarters, Raleigh—holding a scarf and wearing an apologetic look—standing before him.

"You want me to be the guinea pig."

Though it hadn't been a question, Raleigh nodded. "I think you want to get it out of the way sooner."

That was true enough, as was the fact that Herc had the most obvious hang-ups to overcome. Sighing, he closed his eyes. "Do it." When a minute passed without the blindfold sliding over his eyes, Herc cracked one open to find Raleigh regarding him with an unfocused stare, lips slightly parted. "Raleigh?" _Ranger Becket_.

Raleigh blinked and cleared his throat, and Herc didn't know if he was imagining the flush that rode high on Raleigh's cheekbones. "Sorry, sir," Raleigh said, and finally moved as Herc closed his eye again.

The scarf was soft— and Herc wondered—perhaps inanely—where Raleigh had gotten it. It settled over his eyes and tightened as Raleigh knotted it at the back of his head. He turned his head to test it, but Raleigh had tied it well, just tight enough that he couldn't dislodge it without it being so tight as to be uncomfortable. The darkness was disconcerting, disorienting, and Herc found himself unbalanced until Raleigh's fingers found his elbow. The light touch steadied him.

"Ready, Marshal?" Raleigh's voice was soft, so close that Herc imagined he could feel the words exhaled against his ear. When Herc nodded, Raleigh coaxed him forward with nothing more than the pressure of his fingers, four points of contact at his elbow, warm against Herc's skin. "Anywhere in particular you'd like to go?"

"I'm at your mercy."

Raleigh's soft huff, laden with amusement, was a surprise. "Wait, let me get the door." There was a creak as it swung open—Herc made a note to himself to speak to Maintenance about that—and then Raleigh's fingers were at his elbow again, prompting him into motion.

Herc had been expecting a slow amble full of _talking_ , and to some extent that was accurate. Raleigh told the full story of Yancy running him into a tree, then segued into tales of other pranks they'd played on each other, which culminated in one gone horribly awry that resulted in their baby sister Jazmine having to all but buzz her long hair off. Herc found himself grinning at the story of the terror of their mother's wrath, how Raleigh and Yancy had never again dared to prank each other—at least where their mother could find out about it.

The leisurely stroll he'd anticipated, though, was anything but; Raleigh set a brisk, confident pace. Though his fingers remained a constant presence at Herc's elbow, Raleigh rarely steered him, only occasionally pressing in guidance whenever Herc was apparently wandering off-track. Directions peppered his stories—"Turn right here," or "Two steps down, there you go," or "Wait, cross-traffic."—but mostly they walked while Herc listened.

Without the usual cues of body language, Herc found himself focusing on Raleigh's words, the tones they carried. With the strain in their relationship, he'd never really noticed Raleigh's moods in his voice; they'd shared the flat awkwardness that had left no room for emoting. Now, though, Herc could hear Raleigh's amusement as he described the time he'd dyed Yancy's teeth blue, fondness as he spoke of his grandparents and summers spent in the French countryside, wistfulness as he confessed that he'd wanted to be an astronaut when he'd been younger, though he hadn't had the grades to qualify for any program that might have made it possible.

They circled the Kwoon (the lingering scent of sweat and liniment gave it away) as he talked about the family dog, when he'd been a child—a St. Bernard cross that his mother had called Cuddles and his father had called Butch. They wove through the tables in the mess (the ghost of meals past) as he talked about his mother's funeral, his father's departure, how Yancy had finished raising Raleigh and Jazmine. They wandered through LOCCENT (coffee and hair oil) as he talked about how Yancy and he had enrolled in the Jaeger program as soon as Jazmine has been old enough to live on her own, how they'd joined on a lark and had expected to be bounced before the training was done.

They were in the Jaeger bays (metal and grease and the echoes of an enormous empty space) when Raleigh stopped. There, with a voice so soft and bleak that Herc had to strain to hear it, he told Herc what it had been like to feel Yancy die, the panic and fear and pain as he'd been ripped away. He talked about how he'd fled to the wall even as he'd known the efficacy of the project was a desperate fiction, useless in the end. He talked about how he'd been prepared to die there; how he'd been so numb that even the animosity of the shift foreman had been no more than the buzzing of a fly; how he'd work out as an escape and the only means he had to sleep, wearing himself into an exhaustion so great that he'd shut down and actually manage a few hours of slumber before he startled awake again.

He talked about what it had been like to watch helplessly as Chuck and Marshal Pentecost had detonated the bomb, how he'd felt Mako's turmoil echo and tangle with his own. He'd talked about blaming himself—couldn't he have saved them, been a little faster, done something more? He talked about falling through the Breach, how that alien landscape would haunt him forever, stalking his dreams.

He talked about how he'd planned to find Yancy's grave after the war and... he didn't know—disappear, maybe, for good, this time. He talked about how it had been Mako who had changed his mind, Mako—and Herc. He talked about how he'd decided to live his life in an attempt to make up for those he hadn't been able to save, though he'd known he'd be stepping into a hole he'd never be able to fill.

Through it all, Herc was quiet, absorbed every word. Raleigh's fingers were an anchor, not only grounding his body, but also snaking past the resentment plaguing his mind and keeping it from overwhelming him. Herc was able to hear _Raleigh_ , not _Ranger Becket_ , for the first time since Chuck had climbed into Striker for the last time. It was disconcerting to remember that he'd liked the man before... well, before. That Raleigh was still charming and generous and so vulnerable, so easy to break, hit him like a kick in the teeth.

"I think we're done here," he said, breaking the sudden silence. Raleigh inhaled, but said only "OK," before his fingers pressed once more to Herc's elbow and they moved again.

In counterpart to Raleigh's earlier discourse and their circuitous path, the return to Herc's quarters was accomplished without speaking but for the odd direction, and in no time at all. When they arrived (the door creaked again as it opened, then closed), Herc turned to face Raleigh. He raised his hand, rested it a moment on Raleigh's chest before he found Raleigh's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Raleigh," he said and continued quickly when Raleigh sucked in another breath. "I blamed you, and I was wrong." Each word was like pulling teeth, yet each pain, each tug released something knotted inside him, until the words flowed more easily. "What happened with Striker—that wasn't on you. Mako never blamed you. I should have learned from her."

"Herc, I—"

Herc could feel Raleigh shift, move beneath his palm, and groped for his wrists a moment later when Raleigh's fingers skimmed through his hair to find the knot of the scarf. Herc tugged Raleigh's hands down and shook his head. "Not yet, Raleigh." He could feel the wry quirk of his lips, wondered how Raleigh read it. "I don't think I can handle this in the open yet. But give me time."

"Herc," Raleigh repeated, though he made no move to reach for the knot again. His wrists flexed in Herc's grip, testing rather than trying to escape. In the silence between them, Raleigh's breaths were even but shallow, quick... with an edge that hinted at Raleigh's unsuccessful attempt to even it, and Herc—

"Stop me before I do something really stupid, Raleigh."

Raleigh laughed softly. "I don't think I can," he said. "Herc—"

Had Raleigh always said his name like that? He'd hidden so long behind _Marshal_ and _sir_ that he couldn't remember. He released Raleigh's wrists to trail his fingers up his arms, across his shoulders, up his neck to frame his face between his palms, and then he leaned in.

He was off-target at first; his lips found the jut of Raleigh's chin, the line of his jaw with only a hint of stubble, but it was easy enough to correct his course. Raleigh's lips were slack against his, soft but still, until Herc began to pull away—and then Raleigh moved, lunged toward him.

The second kiss was bruising, almost violent, with too much pressure and too many teeth and entirely too much tongue, and Herc lost himself in it. It was terrible and it was perfect, and Herc finally had to push himself away to laugh at the insanity of it. As far as bad ideas, it was almost up there with taking on a kaiju with a flare gun, and, once again, it was Raleigh to the rescue.

Raleigh's fingers wandered over Herc's cheeks, traced the lines of his beard. His thumb smoothed over Herc's swollen lower lip. "We should have tried this from the start," he said, amusement like champagne flavoring his voice. "You know... worked out the tension."

Herc pursed his lips against Raleigh's thumb, nipped it quickly before it was withdrawn. "Nothing's been _worked out_ yet, Raleigh." His aim was perfect this time, and Raleigh's mouth opened immediately beneath his, warm and yielding.

When Raleigh's fingers trekked back to the knot, Herc made no move to resist. He kept his eyes closed as the scar fell away, focused instead on the drag of Raleigh's fingers through his hair, the wet slide of Raleigh's tongue against his. Herc's eyes remained closed as they broke apart, and he memorized the feel of Raleigh's breath against his sensitized lips.

A moment later, his eyes flew open when Raleigh booped his nose.

"Hey," Raleigh said as their eyes met, his own crinkling with a smile that was surprisingly shy—hopeful, even.

"Hey," Herc replied. He searched for the resentment that had plagued him for so long, but it was gone, as though Raleigh had managed to exorcise it with his confessions. He felt... lighter, somehow. "Hey," he said again.

Raleigh's smile broadened, revealing a hint of teeth when Herc couldn't tear his eyes away from it. "Ready to Drift yet?"

"Maybe not quite yet," he said, diving in for a peck at Raleigh's lips before his smile could fall away. "I think we still have things to work on." He swallowed Raleigh's laugh with another kiss, wound his fingers into Raleigh's hair and lost himself in what he hadn't known he'd been missing.

It was true enough: they still had issues to overcome, things that not even the day's gestalt shift could completely erase. But for the first time in years, Herc had confidence that they'd be able to move past them. They could find themselves, maybe even find each other, and, between the two of them, find redemption.

It, Herc decided as Raleigh's arms wound around his waist, was going to be a Hell of a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the awesome [sorrowfulcheese](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese) for the pinch-hit beta! My inconsistent tenses and overenthusiastic application of commas are certainly grateful for the whip. (Any remaining errors are, of course, my own.)


End file.
